Good Eats!

Food.

I’m sure that all of you have been wondering about the supposed “Mediterranean diet” that my host family prepares. Well, I have a few comments on that.

I love the food here. It is not, as many of you are probably thinking, spicy like Mexican food. In fact, they are notoriously scared of anything “picante” or “spicy”. The most-used ingredients in our meals are potatoes and eggs, probably. Besides that, we have eaten a lot of seafood such as fish and calamari, which are amazing. When preparing calamari, they buy whole squid, slice it into sections (rings), and fry them. Last night we had calamari sandwiches: baggett, fried calamari, and mayonnaise. I could eat them endlessly. There is also a ton of ham, and we have chicken on occasion as well. Oh, and we have “pan”, or bread, at every single meal without fail – and it’s going to be tough to return to sliced bread. The baggett style bread is just way better.

There is another major difference between our meals and Spanish ones: we always have three main things. For example, at home we eat a meat, some sort of starch, and a vegetable. Here, we have meat only or potatoes only… unless it’s a stew, which we have often as well.

Well, I have three dishes that I would like to describe for everyone that have been especially… interesting, and I’m sorry, but I only have a picture of one of them.

The first dish we had the week I arrived. It was an entire plate of cold white rice with cold tomato sauce (the consistency of tomato soup… not Ragu) on top. Then, I was given 2 hot 6” chicken sausages and a fried egg for good measure (they love throwing in an egg to complete a meal). It was an eclectic mix of flavors and temperatures to say the least.

The next dish is really a cluster of dishes that spanned a length of time lasting three days. I do not remember exactly when we had this, so let’s just pick Friday – Sunday for the story. There was an unidentified pile of prepared meat on the counter on Friday morning, and I didn’t know what it was (obviously… it was unidentifiable). It had the appearance of chicken wings and legs, but there were also some random bones sticking out of unfamiliar places. To help with the mental image, it reminded me slightly of the undeveloped twin that some people carry in their sides… you know, the ones that end up being little bundles of flesh, teeth, and hair… Anyway, I was given two pieces of the meat along with my dinner that night, and I found it to be pleasing.

The next night, the family had guests over, and our dinner was more of a buffet style spread on the table of whatever we wanted. The spread included cheese, ham, really fishy fish, mussels, and this crazy meat again. I was happily chewing on another piece of the ambiguous meat when I noticed Fernando, my host father, digging through the pile looking for his favorite piece. I asked him what he was looking for, and he said, “the head.” Well, that was exactly the segue I was looking for, and I asked him – obviously with tact – what type of meat it was. He said that it was “conejo” (rabbit), and that he loved the brain the best.

On Sunday, we had a stew in which the recently identified rabbit was served again. I was munching away, pulling out bones as I came across them when I found myself chewing on a more rubbery substance. I pulled out that bone and saw teeth on it – yes, the great mandible jaw bone of the rabbit was mine, and I have to say that it was pretty darn good.

The final meal is the one pictured below. We had it on Monday night, the 22^nd of February. It was a plate full of smelt fish that were dipped in flour and fried. We ate them, head and all, by dipping them in mayonnaise. It was surprisingly not that fishy, but maintaining my cool under the deadly stare of those lifeless eyes was difficult.

Ronda

Let’s talk about Ronda.
Two weekends (February 13-14), our whole group, known as ISA (EEE-suh), went to Ronda and Málaga, two cities southwest of Granada. On Saturday, we went to Ronda for the day before heading south again toward our hotel in Málaga.
Ronda is in the Málaga Province, and, along with Toledo, is quaint and incredibly beautiful. It sits atop a huge cliff. Also, there is a ravine that splits the city into two distinct parts (new and old) that was carved by the river snaking its way down toward the Mediterranean. Connecting the two halves of the city is the Old Bridge, which is at the bottom of the cliffs across the river, and the New Bridge (so cleverly named), which is the impressive one at the top.
Our tour guide was a really sweet guy with a thick Irish accent… It’s just funny hearing Spaniards speaking English differently than I expect. He said he had been an engineer in Ireland for many years, and that was where he learned to speak English.
The first thing that we saw was the Plaza de Toros, which is the oldest in Spain. Here, I digress for a brief etymological monologue…
Why in the world is a “Plaza de Toros” called a “Plaza”? Is not a “plaza” simply a city square, or open space where streets converge? Well, many years ago, the great peoples of the Iberian Peninsula, Spaniards, began to have bullfights in the main plazas of their respective cities. They would simply block all the entrances and let the bulls roam free. (Mom, this is exactly like when we would put trash cans at the entrances to the baseball diamond and let Buckeye run like a maniac.) They didn’t have buildings dedicated solely to bull fighting until many years later.
After the Plaza de Toros, we walked around the city taking in the vista from many angles along the cliff-line. We also stopped at a mansion to look through the house and see the view from the back porch (which, I have to say, destroys the view of the fruit lab behind my house). After that, we made our way down to the Arab baths and saw another mansion that had distinctive Aztec sculpture around the doorway. We learned there that Montezuma, one of the kings of Tenochtitlan (México City… capital of the Aztec Empire), moved here to live after Tenochtitlan was conquered. After that, we continued on our way to the Arab baths where we saw… Arab baths – places of cleansing and socialization that were built in the 11th century and still used until the 17th.
Once the tour was over, we were set free and allowed to roam the streets to find food and shelter from the ever-increasing rain (oh, did I forget to mention that it was pouring rain at this point. Originally, it was just a serene fog… that didn’t last too long). Or, that was what we were supposed to be doing.
I had heard from a fellow Grover, the legendary Jonathon Riddle (see, already a legend and you haven’t graduated yet), that there was a path that wound its way down to the bottom of Puente Nueva (New Bridge) to see the waterfall there. Molly, Meta, Devin, and I decided to find it regardless of the precipitation, and I’m really glad we did. I’m also glad that my camera is moderately “weatherproof”.
Following our descent, we raced to a tapas bar, grabbed a quick lunch, and headed to the bus to go to Málaga!

the first few weeks...

Hola Gente!!!

Well, I must first apologize. I know you must all be going through update withdrawal, so I will do just that... give you an update.

Last Sunday, the day after we went hiking in Los Cahorros, I went to my first Catholic mass. Pablo, my 21 year old host brother, let me tag along as he went to church early to practice music; he sings in a choir of sorts made up of young people. I went and got to meet a bunch of his friends, and after a short hour I found myself sitting with the choir in the front of the church for the service! It was definitely “torpe” (awkward) because I didn’t know any of the songs, and I didn’t know any of the liturgies or when to stand/sit/do whatever it is that Catholics do. Regardless, it was a great experience, and I got to meet some really great people.

After mass, we came back home to have lunch, and I got to meet Ferdi (short for Fernando), the oldest son of my host parents who lives in the Seminary at which he studies. He was a really amiable guy, and we ended up getting into a great theological discussion of the differences between Catholicism and Protestantism… for about 2 hours. Luckily, Álvaro, the youngest brother, can speak English as well, so through some skillful Spanglish we had a great conversation. Later that night, I was invited to go to the Seminary for a service of “Adoration. To simplify what that means, Catholics believe in transubstantiation, which is the literal changing of the Eucharist (communion) into the body and blood of Christ. Because of this change, they believe that Jesus, although already omnipresent, is especially present in this particular place. Adoration is simply a service in which the Eucharist is placed on the altar and there is singing and praying. Directly after the service, we went downstairs in the seminary to a dinner with a huge spread of food. As I sat down, I realized that I was the only American and definitely the only non-Catholic there. I was surrounded by priests, would-be priests, and a few others. I met the head youth priest for all of Granada and another man who was visiting who just happened to be the main director of youth… things for the Catholic Church of all of Spain! (I’m sure he has some sort of rank, but I don’t know it) He told me he had lived in Cleveland for a while, and his English was really good.

Classes started on Tuesday, February 9, and finally my life began to have some structure. I have five classes that include: Spanish Civilization and Culture, Spanish Art History, Spanish Literature (XVIII-XXI), Oral and Written Spanish Production, and Spanish Grammar. All of the classes will be beneficial – especially since they are all taught solely in Spanish. Even if the content ends up being worthless, I always appreciate more immersion.

I believe that it was last Wednesday, February 10, that the ISA group finally got to see the Alhambra, the 11^th century Muslim fortress that is what most people think about when they think of Granada. I have been there once before on my trip to southern Spain in high school, and it was an incredibly miserable day. It was just warm enough to not be snow, and we all dressed a bit too lightly for the occasion. I’ll post this now and work on my next post: Málaga and Ronda, where we went last weekend. Enjoy.

Los Cahorros

… where do I begin?...

I suppose I’ll begin with Saturday the 6^th of February. I went to Los Cahorros, the equivalent of a national park, on Saturday with my two friends Meta and Molly. All we had to do was to ask our respective host moms if they could make us bocadillos (sandwiches) to take with us, thereby letting them know that we were not going to be home for lunch, and catch the bus that goes between Granada and Monachil, a small pueblo (village) outside of Granada in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. Sounds easy, right?

Well, when I arrived at the designated meeting spot early on Saturday morning, I noticed that Meta and Molly had excessively large lunches packed. This shouldn’t have surprised me, I suppose, since they have been talking about how much food their señora has been feeding them since their arrival last week. According to them, their señora feeds them well because they aren’t “chicas” (girls) anymore. They are “mujeres” (women), and they have to be well fed in order to bear children. Well, Meta and Molly proceeded to divulge the contents of their lunches. (Keep in mind that I thought my lunch, pictured here somewhere, was better than anything they could possibly have had.) They each had two foot-long sandwiches, an orange, an apple, an entire sleeve of cookies, and orange juice. Also, the cheese on their sandwiches was a half-inch thick slice of swiss cheese and one thin layer of bologna. There will be a climactic conclusion to this story sometime in the next 400 words.

Once we successfully got on bus line 183 GRANADA-MONACHIL, we thought we had it in the bag. However, people started to get off of the bus at different small villages along the way, which made us all more than a little nervous that we would miss our stop. Our incredible ignorance and naivety of the public transportation system was horribly evident that day. We ended up getting off of the bus one town too early – not realizing that “GRANADA-MONACHIL” obviously means that the very last stop will be Monachil – and we had to walk about 2.5 miles to get where should have gotten off of the bus and 2 more to get to the beginning of the park. (in the mountain scene pictured, we had lunch on top of the cliff jutting out in the center) The trek was well worth it when we got to the trailhead and before us were glorious rocky cliffs jutting out of the countryside. We promptly made our way to the first lookout and decided that on top of the cliff ahead would be a great place to have lunch.

On top of the cliff, there was a great view of the pueblo of Monachil and some other pueblos in the distance. We took our time, ate what we could of our bocadillos, and enjoyed the amazing 55 degree, sunny day.

For Meta and Molly, eating without the overbearing presence of their host mom was a very freeing experience, and Meta, unable to finish her lunch, took out her frustrations atop the cliff where she cast of her hansel-and-gretel-esque yoke and threw her sandwich to its watery grave. (the aforementioned action is depicted in a photo somewhere around here.)

After eating, we only had an hour before we needed to return to catch the bus back to Granada, so we followed the trail over a bridge and up the valley until we ran out of time. Needless to say, I was extremely exhausted when we got on the bus and tried to stay awake until we returned to Granada. I promptly went to bed and took a nice 2.5 hour nap (which is only slightly longer than the average nap here in Granada).